


wolfsong

by Rethira



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:35:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rethira/pseuds/Rethira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The white wolf howls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wolfsong

The kid's hair is white. Not grey or blond - white. Bright, pure white.

He's a wolf. He has to be a wolf. You know that even before the kid's mother brings him over, even before you press a round silver coin to the kid's arm and he yelps like it's bitten him.

The mother flinches and her mouth goes flat. "Again," she says, and you run through every silver test you've got. The kid's crying by the end, big fat tears, and his arm is a mess of bright red sores.

You stand up and ask, "Shall I take him?"

The mother stares at you levelly and then shakes her head briskly. "I know what your type does," she replies, and then she leads her crying child away.

And well, there's nothing you can do about that. If she wants to risk a wolf in her home, that's for her to decide.

The caravan moves on the next day and you go with them.

 

It's years before you go that way again, but when you do you can hardly miss the kid. Man now, or nearly a man. His hair's still white as new-fallen snow. When he sees you he nods his head and turns away. His mother's nowhere to be seen.

You set up your stall - a few worried parents come over, and leave relieved when there's no reaction. One father does the job himself, and all but pushes his daughter into your arms.

The girl whispers, "But I don't want the wolf to go," and you have to tell her parents that she'll be well looked after and they should say their goodbyes now. Now or never. The mother cries throughout it, but the father walks angrily away.

Later on, the girl confesses that both her siblings are wolves too, they're just better at hiding it. You’re not sure how much you believe that.

You always only stay a day, so as night falls you pack up your silver and help the girl into your cart and prepare to leave.

That's when the white haired boy comes. Out of the dark, and his eyes glow blue in the moonlight.

"I'll take her," he says, his voice surprisingly deep. "She'll be safe with me."

You pause; it's one thing to leave an adult wolf untouched, one thing to leave a young wolf with its family. It's entirely another to leave a young wolf alone with an adult wolf.

The man must read your expression, because he says, "The wolf is still dormant in me. She will be safe."

The girl tugs on your sleeve and asks, "Please? I'd like to stay with him if I can."

You nod carefully and help the girl down. "I'll be back to check on you both," you say. "It's my responsibility."

"We know," the man says. He smiles at you, and then both wolves melt back into the darkness.

 

You return with four children in the cart with you. All wolves, and all happy to stay that way. It’s a lot – in truth, most are happy to be parted from the wolf. But these children shake their heads and say, “No. The wolf is part of me. I will keep it,” and there is little recourse but to take them with you.

The white haired man meets you on the outskirts of the forest. He smiles and helps the children down and repeats, “I will take them,” and they are glad to go with him.

You do not ask why.

 

It is a mother this time. She holds her son on a leash, and he whines pathetically.

“Take the beast out of him,” she orders, and she will not hear no.

It is difficult to do in the light of day. And the boy has obviously been treated more as wolf than child; the wolf fights, as they are wont to do, and when you finally drag it free it turns on you before you can capture it.

The mother watches it all with fascination, and once it is finished, demands that you turn the wolf over to her. Her son lies forgotten and wretched on the dusty ground, and the woman takes his bottled wolf away. She leaves her son behind.

You take him to the white haired man and gently apologise.

He smiles and says, “You have nothing to apologise for.” His hand touches yours as you pass the child to him, and his fingers are cool on your scarred fingers.

 

There is a wolf in the town. An awakened wolf; any sign of humanity is lost to it now. The people raise crossbows and fire, and promise to destroy the creature.

As for you? Well, that is not your purpose.

You leave the wolf to its fate.

 

Another year passes. You return alone this time. The children – and there had only been a few – have been taken elsewhere.

There are others who know of this pack. They call it _yours_ , and the white haired man is your wolf. That is what they whisper. He is your white wolf, and the idea of it burns.

You can claim no ownership over a wolf.

 

This is a secret place. It is where you take the wolves.

All the wolves. The wolves who have chosen their wolf, and the wolves who have been separated. You pass all of them over to the others, man, child and wolf alike.

Here, in this place, the wolves are set free. Poured out of their bottles, like fine, heavy mist. They rear up into their proper shapes; here one smoky red and a head taller than a man, there one green and barely larger than a fox cub. They pace in their cages, snapping at each other and watching those of you who are not caged.

You’d been told once, that it was for their own protection.

That it was for _your_ own protection.

Someone must look to the wolves. Someone must guard the wolves.

 

You have been gone only weeks. There had been no wolves here before. The people regard you with suspicion. They must know it is you who has been bringing wolves here. They must know it is you who has allowed a pack to form. They must know.

The white haired man meets you in the square.

They must know.

 

“Shepherd,” the mayor says, “Shepherd, we beg you.”

The wolf is awake in this one. Large and black furred, taller than you are. But the moon is full and the village has it trapped in a ring of fire.

You draw out the wolf, drag it free. It clings and it whines, cowering from you, but this must be done.

When it is finished, the woman in the circle falls to her knees and sobs, “You should have _killed_ me!”

You take her wolf into the forest and uncork the bottle. It prowls out before you. After a moment, its ears perk up. It glances at you once, and then lopes easily away.

The last you see of it is a curl of dark smoke.

 

The white haired man greets you warmly. His arms are bare, and you can see the scars you left on him. He must see you watching, but he simply smiles kindly. There is forgiveness in his eyes.

There is a bonfire that night. Once, wolves would have been burnt on that pyre. Once, their howls would have echoed across the forest, and their carcasses left out for the birds to pick clean.

Tonight, there is song in the air.

The white haired man takes your hand and leads you into darkness.

 

It is years before you return. Truthfully, you have no reason for it, and you have neglected your duty.

When you do, it is to a ruined village. No people live there any longer, and none of the towns nearby can tell you why.

When the moon rises, the forest fills with wolfsong.

The white haired man waits for you.

 

There are children and adults alike in the cities. Wolves are feared less; many grow to adulthood without ever being tested. There are few enough of you to do the testing, and the wolves of the cities cause less trouble than those in the towns and villages.

You dislike cities. They make you grind your teeth; those ignorant of the truth of wolves come and ask for their power, as if it is possible to ease a wolf from a person and guide it into another. As if you would dare try.

You ache to leave, but your duty demands this. At least for a short time.

As you are leaving an adult wolf approaches, and she begs, “Shepherd, please, rid me of this curse.” Her wolf comes easily, glowing softly grey. Its essence fades before you can contain it, and perhaps that is for the best. The woman leaves, bursting with joy.

The moon hangs full and round in the sky. Beyond the city walls, the wolves await.

 

“Tell me,” the white haired man says.

So you do. You tell him how once, you were taken from your home, and there was molten silver to burn your fingers and your parents weren’t there to stop them.

You tell him how the wolf asked, “Will you become like us? Or will you cast your wolf aside?”

And you had chosen this.

The white wolf nods, and holds out his hand. “Will you become like us?” he asks. “Or will you remain as you are?”

You take his hand, and his fingers are cool on your scarred fingers.

 

Under the full moon, the white wolf runs, and you run with him.

**Author's Note:**

> "the shepherd of wolves"
> 
> "the wolf shepherd"
> 
> "the wolf who drives wolves"
> 
> "the wolf in shepherd's clothing"
> 
> (the white wolf kisses you in the darkness and his laughter wakes the wolf within you)


End file.
